The Homeless Heiress

by Anne Herries

  ‘No,’ he said, his mouth thinned and pale, as if he were holding himself on a tight rein. ‘But I cannot vouch for the beds. They do not always air them as they ought in these places.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure it will be quite comfortable here,’ Georgie said. ‘We must hope that they have enough rooms for us.’

  ‘Yes, that is a point,’ Richard said. ‘We need three, but at a pinch I could share with Henderson.’

  ‘Should you not find that uncomfortable?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ He smiled oddly. ‘But I can hardly share with you, can I? Though I might find it preferable. Ned will sleep with the horses, for he is used to it, and tells me he snores proper dreadful—his words, not mine.’

  Georgie blushed and turned away, for there was something in his eyes at that moment she found strangely disturbing. It was one of the few times he had said anything that made her aware of their situation.

  ‘No, of course you cannot sleep in my room,’ she replied. ‘We must hope they have three rooms to let.’

  Fortunately for all of them the landlord did have three rooms to offer and seemed pleased to have company. He said that his wife was preparing supper and that she would cook an extra capon or two to cater for the gentleman’s needs.

  Richard thanked him for his consideration, telling him that they would be content with whatever was served. He asked Georgie if she could amuse herself for an hour or two and went straight up to his own chamber. Georgie realised that he probably needed to rest his leg and she went to her bedchamber, which was small but suited to the young lad she was supposed to be. She made herself comfortable and returned to the public rooms. She did not stop there, but went out of the back door into a garden.

  It was a country inn and the host was a family man. His wife had washing blowing on a rope line in the backyard, and there were three children all under the age of eleven playing games. The eldest, a girl, had a hoop, which she was rolling along the ground by means of a stick, hitting it at just the right moment so that it continued to turn and stay upright. The smallest, a boy, was running behind her, laughing and begging for his turn, and a girl of about six was sitting on an upturned bucket nursing a rag doll.

  Georgie went up to her. The child was singing a song, her face intent as she nursed her baby. ‘What is her name?’ she asked, squatting down on a bale of hay close by. ‘She is very pretty.’

  ‘I call her Rosie,’ the girl said with a shy smile. ‘She is my baby.’

  ‘I can see that she is,’ Georgie said. ‘Do you like nursing her?’

  ‘My name is Rose,’ the girl told her in a confiding manner. ‘Ma had a baby, but she died. I don’t want my baby to die.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure she won’t,’ Georgie said. ‘Not if you look after her.’

  The girl stuck her thumb in her mouth and sucked it, considering for a moment or two before asking, ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Georgie.’

  ‘My brother is called George,’ the girl said. ‘He is horrid. He never wants to play with me, only Shirley.’

  ‘That is a shame,’ Georgie said. ‘But brothers are like that sometimes. I dare say he doesn’t mean to be horrid to you.’

  ‘Would you like to hold Rosie? She likes you.’

  ‘Yes, why not,’ Georgie said. She held out her hands for the doll, cradling it carefully as if it were a real baby. Rose got up and came to sit beside her on the straw. ‘You’re nice. I thought all boys were horrid like my brother, but you’re not.’

  Georgie laughed. ‘I expect you will find that some boys are nice when you grow up,’ she said.

  Something made her turn her head at that moment to look up at the inn windows. Captain Hernshaw was standing looking down at her, an odd expression in his eyes. She smiled a little uncertainly and turned back to the child. He was suffering, she was certain of it, but he would not ask for help, though perhaps he would accept it from Henderson if he really needed it. She knew a longing to go to him and offer her help, but she was certain he would send her away; he did not need her, for he had his manservant, but it was becoming increasingly clear to her that she needed him.

  Richard watched Georgie for a few minutes before she became aware of him. When she was laughing she looked too pretty to be a boy and he smiled wryly as he wondered just how long they could continue with this masquerade. He had decided it was too dangerous to let her travel alone, but travelling with her had its own dangers—for him. She was too damned attractive, and the outrageous clothes she was wearing were provocative, though of course she had no idea of it.

  Damn it! Why was he even letting himself think how good she would feel in his arms? He had no room in his life for a woman—not one like her, anyway. He had no wish to marry, or to form a lasting attachment for anyone, and though he would enjoy seducing Georgie, he was too much of a gentleman to do it. For her it must be marriage or nothing. But it hurt too much to lose the people you loved. A curse escaped him. He was allowing Georgie to distract his mind from the purpose in hand.

  He needed to concentrate on the task ahead. He knew that the little band of plotters he sought consisted of both French and English dissidents, men who were for one reason or another at odds with the establishment. Some he had no doubt worked for money and would have been loyal to the highest bidder only for as long as it pleased them. However, this plot was taken seriously enough by those in high places for Richard to have formed an idea of the man behind it, because there had to be someone masterminding the affair. He had an idea of who that person might be, but as yet had no proof.

  Whoever this person was, he was clever and he knew people—people who mattered. Richard knew that there had already been two assassination attempts, presumed to be the work of this group. One was on Wellington, who had wrestled the man to the ground, taking him prisoner, and the other on the Regent—and that had been prevented by the intervention of a lady who happened to be there and saw what might have been the end of the prince had she not acted swiftly.

  Two key figures in British politics, Richard mused with a frown. Had the assassins been luckier they might already have succeeded in causing the chaos they clearly desired. He did not truly think that Georgie was mixed up in the plot, at least not knowingly—but if this man, whose name he had heard whispered too often for comfort, was the same man to whom her uncle had been bent on marrying her, it could not hurt to see her safely to her family.

  Richard was angry with himself for falling so neatly into his enemy’s trap. He had been alert all the time he was carrying the papers, but, returning from his second journey of the night, he had allowed himself to relax his guard. The pain in his thigh was warning enough that he must never let his guard slip again, even for a moment.

  ‘Curses!’ he muttered as he sat on the side of the bed. Every movement was like having a hot knife thrust into his thigh. Henderson had warned him that it was too soon, begging him to wait another week before attempting the journey. His natural impatience had made him ignore his man’s warning, but he was paying for it now. ‘To hell with it!’

  He lay back against the pillows. Rest was the only thing for it! He would not take the laudanum he knew would ease the pain, because it all too easily became addictive. Brandy would have eased him, but if he drank enough to dull the pain it would dull his wits, and his instincts were telling him that he needed to remain alert for the next few days.

  Georgie had wondered if Captain Hernshaw would keep to his bed and send word that she should order a tray in her room, but he did not. He was downstairs in the private parlour at the appointed time, where Henderson, who had followed them to the inn at a discreet distance, joined them a little later.

  Georgie watched the exchange between the two men. She could not hear what they were saying, but Captain Hernshaw nodded and looked pleased, so she supposed it was good news. The three of them took their places at table, and the host’s wife served them with a dinner as good or better than they might have found at the more fashionable inn they had been headed
for. Roast capon, cold ham, pigeon in wine sauce and a remove of parsnips in melted butter, carrots and mashed turnip, all served with delicious gravy. She returned a little later with a large treacle tart and custard, for the young lad. This was said with a smile and a nod, which made Georgie feel she must eat a piece of the gorgeous tart, even though she was already full.

  ‘If you eat like that all the time, you will get fat,’ Richard remarked, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes.

  ‘Well, I had to eat some of it since she made it especially for me,’ she said, feeling miffed. ‘Besides, I never get fat. I take after Papa in that and he was always thin.’

  Richard nodded, his expression thoughtful as he looked at her. ‘I fear I must leave you to amuse yourself this evening, Georgie. I need to rest if we are to continue our journey first thing in the morning.’

  ‘I’ll take a look at your wound before you retire,’ Henderson said. ‘It may have opened again.’

  ‘I do not think so,’ Richard replied. ‘But take a look by all means.’

  ‘You do not need to worry about me,’ Georgie said. ‘I shall go to my room. I would be happier with a book to read, but I dare say I shall fall asleep soon enough.’

  ‘Poor Georgie,’ Richard murmured. ‘I am sorry I have nothing to offer you—unless you would care for the book of poetry you discovered at my London house?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you. I should enjoy reading that—I had hoped to subscribe to it myself.’

  ‘Wait here and Henderson will bring it to you,’ Richard told her. ‘Had we stopped at the inn I intended to use, you would not have been safe, but this place is much quieter and I think you may stay here by the fire for a while should you wish.’

  Georgie watched as he walked from the parlour, limping on his injured leg though obviously trying not to. Henderson gave her a nod and she settled down by the fire to wait for his return. They had not been gone more than a few minutes when Georgie heard the wheels of a carriage outside the inn. Something made her get up and go to the window. She glanced out at the curricle that had just arrived, giving a squeak of fear as she saw the gentleman throw his reins to a groom. She knew his face at once, for he was Monsieur Thierry—the man she had run away from her home to escape!

  What was he doing here? It was a terrible mischance that he should come to this place! Georgie drew back hastily as he glanced towards the lighted window. Her mind worked feverishly. Would the host give him a room for the night? He would probably want supper, and, knowing that Captain Hernshaw had retired for the night, the host would think it acceptable if he allowed the newcomer to have the parlour.

  She had to escape before he saw her! Georgie was not at all sure that her disguise was sufficient to fool a man she had met on several occasions at her uncle’s home. He must not be given the chance to recognise her!

  She left the parlour and hurried up the stairs, reaching the top seconds before she heard voices below in the hall. Thierry was asking for a room for the night, but the host was telling him that his rooms were full.

  ‘You will at least allow me to take supper here?’ The voice of the man she disliked followed Georgie as she fled up the stairs and along the landing to her own room. Once inside, she locked the door and leaned against it, her breast heaving in a sigh of relief. Had she not glanced out of the window, he might have walked into the parlour and found her there alone.

  Trembling, Georgie sat down on the edge of the bed. She would certainly not be venturing downstairs to the parlour again that night, and she would be careful in the morning. Henderson would go to look for her in the parlour, but when he saw there was a new occupant he was sure to come here to bring her the book. Georgie decided that she would tell him Monsieur Thierry was here, because it might not be coincidence. It was just possible that he had followed them here for some reason.

  She guiltily remembered the calling card she had discovered at Captain Hernshaw’s house and not given him. In the morning she would have to tell him if he should mention the Frenchman by name.

  Georgie spent a couple of hours reading the book Henderson brought her, but once again she found herself decoding the messages she found scribbled into the margins. She soon discovered that there was a fresh notation in one of the margins, but when she used the code to unravel it she was left with a riddle.

  Where the stars and sword unite, the plotters lie in wait and plan their deadly deeds. The fox is in the hole and will not come unless you knock thrice and thrice again.

  Now what on earth did that mean? Georgie stared at it for ages before closing the book. Perhaps she had made a mistake with the code? The first message had been simple to understand, for it said that there was a plot afoot to murder some important members of the government and hinted at the Head of State, who could only be the Regent. But this riddle did not make sense.

  Her work had made her tired and she fell asleep with the book in her hand.

  Henderson had told her that he would warn her if the Frenchman was still around in the morning, but as he did not do so she washed, dressed and went downstairs to the parlour. Both Captain Hernshaw and Henderson were there and she noted that the captain looked a little easier.

  ‘Did you sleep well, sir?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ he replied. ‘I hope you were not too bored, Georgie?’

  She caught something in his tone and realised he was looking at her with interest, and then she knew that he had intended her to find the code and the riddle. ‘Yes, I slept well enough, after I had finished puzzling over the book you sent me.’

  Henderson stood up, saying that he would make sure the horses were ready for them in twenty minutes.

  Richard’s brows lifted as his man left the parlour. ‘You found something to interest you?’

  ‘A riddle I could not solve,’ she said. ‘Have you changed the code or did you discover a riddle too?’

  He nodded, a smile on his mouth. ‘Irritating isn’t it? As if the code were not enough, there is yet a further puzzle.’

  ‘You wanted to see if I got the same result as you?’ Georgie said, because she understood why he had given her the book. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’

  ‘Because I thought you would be curious enough to discover it for yourself.’

  ‘I was,’ she admitted and laughed. ‘One of these days I shall read the poetry instead of working on your wretched messages.’

  Richard’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully. He had set her a little test and was satisfied with the result. ‘You told Henderson that Thierry was here last night. It frightened you. Did you think he had discovered you were here?’

  ‘I was afraid of it at first,’ Georgie confessed. ‘It seemed strange that he should come to the same inn—especially as it is not one of those most frequented by travelling gentlemen. We should not have stayed here had you not needed to rest.’

  ‘That is true,’ Richard agreed. ‘He may have followed us, though I do not know why—do you?’

  Georgie reached into her coat pocket and brought out the calling card. ‘This was left for you in London. I saw him come to the house when I looked out of the landing window, and I hid it because I did not wish you to meet with him.’

  Richard gave her a stern look. ‘Jensen told me he thought a card had gone missing. It crossed my mind that you might have taken it, but I could not think why. When did you intend giving it to me?’

  ‘When we reached my great-aunt’s house,’ Georgie said, feeling awkward under his interrogation. ‘I know I had no right to take it. I am sorry.’

  ‘You should not have done so,’ he replied, but did not seem particularly incensed. ‘It may be important that he approached me; it may mean nothing—but it is better that I know these things. Please do not hide anything from me in future.’

  ‘You have every right to be angry,’ Georgie said. ‘Especially if he is mixed up in this…affair.’

  ‘What makes you think he might be?’ Richard’s gaze became hard, intent.
‘Do you know more than you are telling me? If so, confess it now, because it will not go well with you if I discover that you are in league with him later.’

  ‘In league with that odious man!’ Georgie was horrified. ‘I hate him! I would rather die than have anything to do with him. I swear it on my honour…’ She saw the look in his eyes and flushed. ‘Very well, on my father’s honour—and he was a good man.’

  ‘Very well, I shall believe you,’ Richard said. ‘So, we have a little problem. Monsieur Thierry is possibly following us, but for the moment we do not know whether he is after you—or me.’

  Georgie shuddered. ‘Do you think he might have something to do with the attack on you?’

  ‘If he is involved with the people I am after, he may well have done.’ Richard frowned. ‘I had not expected to be followed. I think I may have exposed you to danger, Georgie. Should I find a respectable woman to escort you to your aunt’s house and let you continue alone?’

  ‘No! I want to stay with you until we get there,’ Georgie said, shivering as she turned cold. ‘When I saw him last night I realised that I cannot be safe until we reach my aunt’s home. If you abandoned me, I should be anxious every moment.’

  ‘You are certain?’ Richard accepted it as she nodded. ‘I think perhaps you are right, though if I thought it was me he wanted…’ He shook his head, his gaze narrowing. ‘So you discovered the riddle last night—what do you think it meant?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Georgie confessed. ‘I thought perhaps the first part of it referred to the place where the plotters meet, but it was so strange that I could not make it out—and the bit about the fox in the hole…’

  ‘Perhaps it refers to their leader?’ Richard said. ‘The fox may be a name for the ringleader, and my informant is saying that he will not leave his lair until the right moment.’

  ‘Why did he not just say so?’ Georgie demanded, exasperated. ‘It makes no sense to get a message to you and then not say straight out what you need to know.’